Streaks of Red: The 38th Annual Hunger Games
by Calamity Heart
Summary: It was that time of year again. Time again for 24 unlucky children to be beautified, paraded like show dogs, thrown into a battlefield and sent out to kill each other. Time once more for the Hunger Games... In whose favor are the odds this year?
1. Kill Shot: Dolla and Phoenix

**(A/N: Hello, Hungry Gamers! I've decided to step out of my comfort zone for a little bit and expand my horizons from the world of cartoons and anime to -whoom!- books… Excitement!**

**First and foremost, this will not be an SYOT. Disappointing for many, I know but I'd really prefer not to catch flak from the rule-sticklers who can be -very- rude at times… No tribute submissions and no sponsor point system.**

**But that doesn't mean you still can't enjoy the story and root for your favorite tribute, maybe taunt your least favorites? Hm? Hehe.**

**Alright, enough stalling! On with the show! Here's how I'll try and make it go: I'll be posting 12 pre-written chapters for each District's Reaping. One per day. Once District 12's Reaping has been posted, there's going to be a week's interval between that day and the day I'll start posting things about the prep work that'll be done on each tribute. During that interval, you can give your suggestions on maybe what I can do regarding the characters during the prepping stages. Most likely there will be a two-day interval between those chapters, and most likely, it'll be another 12 chapters, which won't be pre-written, so depending on my schedule, I may not be able to post on time. Don't hate me if that occurs! n_n;**

**After prepping is the fun part: The Games! I have not decided on a winner yet, but my tilt will probably depend on your reviews! Arena ideas are very, very welcome, as are traps and/or Muttations.**

**Now, let's get down to the first Reaping!)**

~Dolla's POV~

I decided I hated the color pink the moment I woke with a start and got two eyefuls of the color, my surprised jolt being an automatic response to the fact that I couldn't breathe. I immediately lifted my head and supported myself on my arms, the fact slowly sinking in that I had slept on my face. Again.

An unbecoming growl escaped my supple lips, but I didn't care. I was always cranky when I woke up. Like a baby. Most likely due to the fact that I had been treated like a baby all my life. I _still_ get treated like a baby at 16, and I _love_ it.

I look around my room as if I'm unfamiliar with it. Friggin' pink everywhere… Pink walls with white swirly-ish designs. A large and regal dresser painted pink. Hot pink fur carpeting… Ugh…

I push up on my arms and whirl around, flopping down onto my back on the bed and sighing. Today's important for some reason, but I'm not sure why, and I don't care, frankly. I just want to fall back asleep… Then it hits me. The Reapings are today!

The very thought puts new energy into my groggy joints. I begin to flail about, wrestling with my sheets as if they were holding me down, begging for me to stay. When I finally free myself, I leap off the bed and frantically strip off my silky pink pajamas.

Even though I'm energized, I'm still tired. I know this because I run stark naked around my room for about thirty seconds, forgetting why I took off my clothes in the first place. Clothes… I turn to my dresser and bonk myself on the noggin. Clothes, of course!

By some sort of miracle, I slip on the carpeting and fly headfirst into the armoire, bouncing off of it and laying sprawled on the floor, dazed, nude, and pissed off.

Aw, hell… I can _feel_ the knot rising on my forehead. My pale pink bedroom door opens and my mother pokes her head in. "I-Is everything alright, de-"

She doesn't finish. Not after I twist around and grab a picture off of my hot pink jewelry box before twisting again and hurling it like a discus at the door. Unfortunately, I miss her and shatter the thing against the door frame… She gasps and closes the door again, catching a strand of dirty blonde hair as it shuts. She yelps as it painfully slides free.

I sigh and stand. I'll have to apologize later. 'Sorry' will probably be the last thing I say to her before I'm shipped off to the Games today. I'm aware it also might be the last word I ever say to her, period, but I don't focus on that. I'm supposed to be desensitized to the fear of death, like _all_ Careers.

My eyes turn to the carnage of the frame. It's a picture of me and my brother. I'm ten in the picture and my bro's fifteen. It was taken the day he volunteered for the 32nd Hunger Games and didn't come home. He liked to piss me off for sport when he was alive, so I pretended I didn't miss him. Meh, the frame's replaceable. It's just glass and plastic.

I turn and throw open my wardrobe, staring in absolute disgust at all of the pink inside of it... I pick out a dress that looks white and hang it on the door before prancing swiftly into my bathroom. Minutes later, I prance back out, toweling off just enough so that I'm not soaking and uncomfortable, but leaving enough water on me so that when I catch the sun, my gorgeous body glistens like that of a goddess.

I throw on the dress immediately and admire myself in a huge mirror by the door. Of course I don't put on panties. What have they ever done for me besides give me wedgies? None of my friends wear panties, anyway. I grimace at the raised bump on the upper right quadrant of my forehead, then focus on my attire. The sleeveless dress is pretty plain and comes up to a little above my knees.

_Too long…_ I groan in my mind. Any dress that doesn't show at least half of your thighs is not worth wearing. Who wears fancy clothes for _modesty_? That's what pants are for. Why did my mother buy this..? The alternative, however, is wearing something more pink, and since I'm sick of pink at the moment, I suck it up, slip on some squishy slippers and run out of my room.

~Phoenix's POV~

Today is going to be a good day. I just know it is. I stand with my arms crossed at the front of the pack of 18-year olds. This is _my_ year. I've been beat out of being a volunteer since I was fifteen, but not this year. This year, no one will stop me, and the people around me know it. One kid in my year reaches up and firmly pats me on the shoulder. "You got this, Nick!" he said with a thumbs-up. I just nod slowly. Of _course_ I got this. I stare up at District One's escort, Julian Moss, and my eyes can't help but lock on his sewage-green curly hair and wide smile. I shoot him a more-than-chalant wink and his chest begins to rumble in what I'm guessing is a chuckle. He then shoots me a wink right back. Now I _know_ this is my year.

Julian turns his head and his mouth moves. he's talking to someone off-stage. I can't tell to who until I see Mayor Pimmsbrook nod. It's time to start.

"Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the Reaping of the 38th Annual Hunger Games!" he yells out in that signature Capitol accent. Just hearing it makes me want to vomit, but I clap along with the others, rolling my eyes.

"As always, it is a pleasure as well as an honor to be this fine town's escort. I can't _begin_ to tell you how many people want to be me right now!" He then begins to point at random people in the crowd. "Let's see, you do. And you, and you! Oh, and you, too!"

This gets a good laugh out of the audience and playfully scrunched noses out of the people he pointed to. I shrug, wishing he'd skip to the good part.

"Now, as much as I'd like to stand here and make fun of you, I must introduce the woman of the hour! Miss Abernethy Pimmsbrook!"

It took me a little bit to get over the fact that our mayor was named after a flat, crunchy biscuit. Once I did, I joined in the applause. She was a plump little woman with short golden locks and a modest pantsuit and golden tie. I began to tune her out as she introduced herself, then began with the obligatory recitation of the history of Panem, the failed revolt of the Districts, yadda yadda… I must've dozed off standing up, because I can't remember anything between the words 'embarrassing submittal' and 'Hancock'.

It dawned on me that Moss had taken the center stage again and had just read the name of the reaped girl tribute. I glance to one side and my lip curls slightly in recognition. Pattie Hancock. Pattie wasn't her real name, of course, but her first name was unpronounceable, so everyone just shortened it to Pattie. It was something Latin, but I can't remember what it was supposed to be Latin for… Didn't matter, though, because no sooner than she hit the first step, several girls were yelling and clawing at each other to volunteer.

Pattie stared blankly at the storm of nails, weaves, and swear words. A dainty shoe came flying out of the violence and nearly hit me in the face, but my reflexes didn't let me down. I caught the silver slipper and held it, wondering who it belonged to.

"I volunteer!" a voice called out. One girl managed to force her way out of the sad, tangled mess of hair and makeup and very nearly pushed Pattie aside to run up the steps in front of Moss. I smirked as I noticed that she only had one shoe on. "I volunteer as tribute."

Pattie rolled her eyes and walked back to her place among the 14-year-olds, shaking her head with disappointment at the web of defeated girls.

"Excellent, excellent! Your name, my dear?" Julian squeaked.

"Dolla Cunningham!" she said proudly.

Dolla. I couldn't help but smirk. What silly names some families gave their children here in District One. I was glad that I was lucky enough to get a name like mine. Phoenix Centari. Was there ever a name so perfect?

"Very good, very good! Everyone, a hand for Miss Dolla Cunningham!"

There was much whooping and applause. Dolla gave a polite little bow and took her seat, looking down at her feet and grimacing at her one bare foot. I tried hard not to stare, but I couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing any underwear…

~Dolla's POV~

Hollow victory… I got my spot in the Games, but I lost my right shoe… Oh, well. I consider just throwing the other one off, but I don't think that would been in good taste. Besides, I hate walking barefoot. I hate it so much, I'd really rather just walk around with one shoe on than with both off. I'd sleep in my shoes if my night-shifting didn't wrinkle the sheets. Not that I care; fixing the sheets is the maid's job. I just wake up with sore toes when I sleep in shoes.

I was snapped from my thoughts at the sound of applause. A boy was making his way to the stage. A _gorgeous _boy. He was going up to take the place of a twelve-years old who clearly hadn't been training. He was a friggin' toothpick. But this guy…

Phoenix Centari was clearly very popular amongst his year. One kid with a really loud and obnoxious voice began to chant: "Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix!"

The entire 18-year-old division immediately joins in, followed by the rest of the boys' half. Some of the girls join in, too, and naturally, the rest followed, me included. After about a minute, the entire audience was chanting his name and he just stood there, egging them on, pumping his fist in rhythm.

Julian Moss gestures to me and I stand, walking as elegantly as one can with only one shoe and standing in front of Phoenix. I hear a few wolf whistles, as well as a distinct, "That's my boy!" I extend a hand to shake, but he places my shoe in my palm instead. I look up at him, utterly stunned, and he just smirks and winks.

That was the kill shot. I faint for a half a second and teeter backward, about to embarrass myself in front of all of District One. However, Phoenix swoops in immediately, catching me in his arms and pulling me back to my feet.

"You alright?" he asks. I don't know what comes out of my mouth, but it isn't English. It didn't even sound like _any _language. It was enough to make him laugh, though and I laugh, too. Moss laughs. Pimmsbrook laughs. The whole audience was laughing. At me. I didn't care not one bit. If I had any feeling in my right arm, I'd probably flip off the whole lot of them. But I was frozen, my eyes locked to his.

I almost bite Moss's hand off as he takes my shoulder and turns me to face the audience. I would've, if I had tried, but I resist the urge.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games! May the odds _ever _be in their favor!" he yells out cheerfully. Phoenix woots and pumps his fist again. I smile and wave like a pageant girl, sliding the slipper back onto my foot.

The odds were _certainly_ in my favor right now.

**(A/N: There you have it! Tell me what you think! The D2 Reapings will be up tomorrow, so look forward to it! n_n)**


	2. Personal Preference: Olivia and Atlas

**(A/N: Second chapter, coming at you! I hope you enjoy it as much as I'm assuming you enjoyed the previous chapter! n_n)**

~Atlas's POV~

I was born ready. Since I was 8, I've been training for this day. I had no choice, really. The rents 'insisted' I train early for the Games. And by 'insisted', of course I mean 'forced'.

I maintain steady breathing as I easily heft the 220-lb bar above my chest, bringing it back down, then repeating the process. My shirt had found itself thrown in a wad nearby, so I was bare-chested and sweating. Just the way I like it.

All around me were grey brick walls and a couple of windows. The gym was very plain; there was no reason for it to be otherwise. I had been in this spot on and off all night. I didn't need sleep; I can sleep on the train when I'm on my way to the Capitol. I _will_ have my spot this year. I've told myself this since I was twelve, but for two years, I've been ousted by bigger, burlier Career Tributes, and each year, I get stronger and stronger. I tell myself this is the year, but if it's not, oh well. Another year packing on more stamina.

I deposit the bar onto the spotter with a loud clank and sit up, wiping my face with my already-sweaty rag. I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see my older sister, Hera. She looks content, what with her smug grin and thick raised eyebrows. "Lookin' good, champ. Ready to have your 'glory' taken away from you again?"

"Fat chance." I growl. "I'm volunteering this year, and there's no stopping me this time."

"Whatever you say, Lassie." She laughed. 'Lassie' was her pet name for me. Of course, I hated it with a passion, but I never called her out over it, because then she would know I minded and would _never_ stop. So instead, I just took my anger out on the weights. A few hundred curls with the 45s and I was as calm as a lake again. Hera had long since left.

I glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost time. I stood and reached for my shirt, throwing it over my sweaty body and leaving the gym with a crack of my neck.

~Olivia's POV~

Hate to admit it, but I'm actually kinda nervous. I know I'm from District 2. I'm supposed to be excited for the Games, and I am, I guess, but the shaking in my leg won't stop, no matter how much I try and force myself to calm down. I was so much taller than the other thirteen-year olds… I hoped to myself that no one could see the concern on my face.

Our escort, Sebastian Cornwallis, had just left the stage, and our mayor, Vladimir Gourden, had taken his place and began to bore us with the history of Panem and the fall of the other Districts. I always found it amusing; District 2 didn't revolt against the Capitol 39 years ago, yet because of 'equal treatment', or some other bull, we're forced to participate in the Games just like the others. We're treated _much_ nicer, though.

I scowl as the actual Reapings begin. As Sebastian's candy-tinted hand reached into the transparent orb, I stand prepared, ready to fight for my spot if the need should arise…

"Jasmine Fer-"

"I volunteer!" I scream out without stopping to think. Before Jasmine Ferrum, a short and squishy-faced 16-year-old, can weave her way through the crowd, she's taking her spot again and I'm pushing my way for center stage.

"Name, dear?" Sebastian asked. I wanted to laugh at his Capitol accent, but resisted the urge and simply said, "Olivia Destry."

Sebastian nodded and motioned behind him. I shifted a little so that I faced the audience, but stood a little behind Sebastian, to his left side.

I watch carefully as he reached into the Reaping Ball on his other side and read the name.

"Jordan Quincy?"

I see Jordan's head pop up out of the crowd and I grimace. Jordan's a pretty good friend of mine. I know I'm supposed to be trained not to care, but I don't know if I could bring myself to… No, I can't think like this… All this training can't go to waste, not over a friend.

I rap my fist against my temple to keep myself in focus, then look back at Jordan, who was now running up to the stage as he broke a wristlock, and who wasn't Jordan.

"I volunteer as tribute!" he said. Upon hearing his voice, my grimace widened. I'd honestly rather have taken Jordan over Atlas Greene. Not because of personal pref- …Yeah, it's personal preference. Atlas Greene is an ass. Don't let him fool you with that hearty attitude and strong demeanor, he's an ass if I've ever seen one. Controlling, demanding, refuses to compromise. A perfect Career Packleader. How do I know this? I dated him for about a week two months ago…

He glances at me with a sly smirk, and I glance at him with a frank frown. Atlas is going to complicate things for sure…

"Hrm hm! Ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes for this year's Hunger Games: Olivia Destry and Atlas Greene!"

**(A/N: Shorter than the last, sorry.. Couldn't think of much to do for District 2. Three will be better, promise!)**


	3. Black Snow: Tixxie and Rindro

**(A/N: Here's District 3, guys! Hope you're enjoying these; I hear they get a bit boring sometimes.**

**Please note, I haven't read much of Catching Fire or any of Mockingjay. If I describe Beetee a little off, please let me know politely. Thanks!)**

~Tixxie's POV~

The gentle whir of automated robot arms and drills stirred me from sleep. I look groggily around from left to right at the imperfect televisions and radio sets. My home. With a sigh, I heave myself into a sitting position, noting sourly that I had slept on a conveyor belt again.

I had been warned constantly how dangerous this was, and it's not that I refuse to listen. I just forget sometimes, and other times, I'm too tired to care. Rubber and metal treads are surprisingly comfy if you've been awake for three days prior.

I gasp as a loud hum sends the conveyor rolling and lie down, tumbling to my left and landing on my feet, barely avoiding impaling my right foot with a stuck-up rusty nail. Another small sigh rises out of my flat pre-pubescent chest. Nope, fourteen and still haven't hit puberty. I look seven, frankly, and I hate it. _Hate_ it. Most of the other girls in my year have figures, while I'm still just a plain old straight line.

On occasion, I find myself just curiously tapping the center of my chest, hoping that a little stimulus would cause breasts to sprout. They don't, of course, and I only succeed in frustrating myself…

"Wakey, wakey, washboard." A laugh came from nearby. I turned with a scowl to Beetee, his hand still on the button which activates the conveyer I was laying on. He took his finger off of the button and pressed it again, turning the belt off.

Beetee was the closest thing to a father I had. My real father wanted nothing to do with me, and the feeling was mutual. I walked up to Beetee and punched him as hard as I could in the stomach. In actuality, the only one who got hurt was me. Even though he was only about 20-something, Beetee's gut was like a cauldron. But in order to save my fragile self-esteem, he pretended to reel, falling to the ground in pain and groaning as he curled into a mock fetal position.

His glasses, which were never a good fit for him, fell off of his face as he fell, and I couldn't help but laugh. After seeing him in those specs for so long, Beetee looked really funny without them. Upon seeing me laughing, Beetee started to laugh, too, and he stood up. I saw that I had left a greasy imprint in the shape of my knuckles and the middle joints in my fingers where I punched him. I took a moment to wonder whether or not this counted as some form of victory.

"You ready, kid? Reapings start in about half an hour." Beetee asked.

I wasn't ready. I was filthy, tired, and still a little angry at Beetee. "Yeah, I guess."

Beetee placed a comforting hand on my back. My chances of getting reaped were _far_ greater than they should've been. I had taken out countless tesserae in order to keep myself alive, but it never seems like it's enough. My only condolence was the fact that… Dammit, there was no condolence. I had probably taken out the single greatest number of tesserae in District 3's recent history, and I'm only fourteen.

Beetee has to steer me to the doorway at the front of the factory, since I'm far too distracted to direct myself safely through this cube of hazards… As I exit, I look up and see a very common sight here in District 3: black snow.

It's a phenomenon that occurs because of the high ash content in the air, due to the constant influx of the stuff from our many factory chimneys. It's not dangerous, but if it sticks for very long, it starts to make the District look exactly how it is: depressing.

I heave a sigh as the sandy fallout crunches under my feet as I trudge through it toward the District Square, where I could already see that many had gathered.

~Rindro's POV~

We weren't always this pathetic. We used to take pride in shipping out anesthetized robot children to kill other people's children for sport. Until Beetee won, that is.

I look around the small corral of teenagers, hoping that no one could hear my thoughts. If I had the gall to speak my mind out loud, no doubt the Peacekeepers would beat me publically and mercilessly, if not worse.

Beetee's victory marked a milestone for District 3. He was our first male Victor, our fifth overall Victor, and our last Victor since winning.

It's because of Beetee that District 3's Career Program went dry. Well… That's not really fair to put against him. It's not like Beetee withheld parents from training their children, just that he was successful in making the majority of them feel bad about doing it. He didn't mean to, either.

It was after his Victory Tour when it happened. Beetee was pretty pumped when he won. Food for his district, a nice house, endless love and affection for at least the next week. But it all crashed around him when he came back from his Victory Tour, after having been forced to look into the faces of the parents of the victims of the ingenious arena trick which won him the Games. To not even be able to finish his speeches on account of being booed away. To endure the yells of 'Cheater!' and 'Lowlife techie!' It sickened him, because in his heart, he knew they were right. His brain gave him a huge advantage over his opponents, and his sponsors' gifts helped, too.

When he came back, he went on a tirade, harshly reprimanding his own District for their outlandish casual behavior toward the Games, as if they were an actual game and not a reminder that we were owned.

I don't know what Beetee said, exactly, but it was enough to sober up most of District 3, and the Career Program ground to a halt. Needless to say, the Capitol was none too happy with him. His mother and brother were killed, and his sister was kidnapped to the Capitol to 'serve' its citizens. And by 'serve', I mean 'service'. In other words, she was forced into prostitution.

"Tixxie Finnegan!"

The call of the name jars me from my thoughts. I look up and see a girl shuffle up to the stage with her head down. She was short and young-looking. I was sure she was 12, but I saw a shift in the overall position of the section of fourteen-year-olds. Quite the surprise… But not the worst to come…

"And for the boys!" our escort, Felicia Durnam chirped, prancing to the glass ball full of blue cards. She dug one out and read it.

"Rindro Wayne!"

My stomach did the flip that it was bracing for. It takes me a moment to collect the nerve, but I slowly edge myself from the sixteen-year-olds and walk up to join Tixxie on stage, where I found it even harder to believe that she was fourteen. I was two heads taller that she was, her face was youthfully rounded, and her chest was flatter than the face of an anvil. She looked at me and a flash of annoyance gleamed in her animated eyes, either because she could tell that I was thinking about how young she looked, or she traced my eyesight to her chest.

I immediately turned my eyes straight ahead again, finding it easier to believe, now, that she was older than she looked.

I look over to who would be my mentor, Beetee, but his eyes were locked onto Tixxie. I couldn't read his expression…

"Ladies and gentlemen! Give a round of applause to District Three's fabulous tributes! Tixxie Finnegan and Rindro Wayne! May the odds _ever_ be in their favor!"

I look up and out at the lazy downfall of black snow, and a chill races up my spine. The first, final, and greatest crucible in my life was only a week away… Was Tixxie prepared for it..? …Was I..?

**(A/N: Thanks for your views, guys! Remember to review; it would mean so much to me! n_n Until tomorrow, Hungry Gamers!)**


	4. No Feelings, No Mercy: Nadia and Carlos

**(A/N: Fanfiction does not seem to want to cooperate with me right now... Because of a bug that may or may not be preventing you from seeing Chapter 3 unless you press the double arrows on the initial link to the story, I'm going to try a little test to see if I can't beat this. You lucky lot get a double feature! Here's chapter 4 for District 4! Enjoy!)**

~Carlos's POV~

I love the smell of salt and tears in the morning. All around me, those who weren't in the Career Program shifted uncomfortably, hoping they wouldn't get reaped. Don't know what they were quaking for, if they did, someone who _did_ bother training would certainly take their place. District Four is one of the few Districts that could feel safe because of those like me.

I wasn't a meathead like the monsters in District 2, but for my size, I was pretty strong. I glanced over to the other half of the possible tributes, shaking my head in disappointment. I didn't see many girls in the Career Program this year, and the few I saw were pretty young, so there wasn't a good chance they'd be reaped or would volunteer. The older girls looked more toned, but most of them looked absolutely scrawny…

Steffi Gardner was looking upon all the fish in her barrel this year, and she looked about as disappointed as I was. She was our escort, and she usually looked pretty ecstatic for the Reapings. Not this year, though. The odds were not in our favor this year. Last year's winner, Thell, was from District Four. The only Districts that have ever won consecutive Games are 1 and 2. Already, we were cursed.

Steffi tapped on her mike to draw everyone's attention, then began speaking. "Greetings and salutations, District Four! Most of you may know me, but for those who don't, I am your esteemed escort, Steffi Gardner!"

She paused for applause. There was a slight hesitation, but some parents caught the message and started clapping slowly and awkwardly. You might as well have slapped Steffi in the face.

"Mayor Oswald Kaiden." she sighed, gesturing to our mayor, a cane-wielding old man with warts on his bony arms the size of my fist. The applause was a bit more complacent; people actually _liked_ Mayor Kaiden, unlike Steffi. She smelled of floor wax and candy, two very foreign flavors here on the seaside. Not many people here liked foreign.

Mayor Kaiden introduced himself, then began his scripted recital of Panem's history, made even more unbearable by his rickety drawl. When he was finally through, I almost didn't even want to volunteer anymore. Steffi took the stage again, and I was kind of relieved to hear her fast-talking pitchy Capitol accent.

"Now, let the Reapings begin! Ladies first!" she pipped, walking over to the female tributes' Reaping Ball. She dug her hand into the sea of paper cards and pulled one out. Her expression brightened momentarily, and I automatically knew that this was going to be bad in some degree.

"Nadia Kaiden!" she squeaked. My mind stalled for a moment before it finally registered that the mayor's granddaughter just got reaped. I looked for Nadia quickly, spotting the 17-year-old as her shocked and solemn face turned from Steffi to her grandfather, who just grimaced, sadness flashing across his ancient face. Her head dropped and she began to trudge up the steps. No one had volunteered yet. At this point, if no one had volunteered, it was a fair bet that there weren't going to _be_ any volunteers, a rare occurrence in District Four. Steffi knew this, as well, but she asked anyway. "Any volunteers?"

Silence… I almost felt bad for Nadia, and I _did_ honestly feel bad for Mayor Kaiden. Clearly, he was alive at the time of the first revolt. He probably knew the true dimensions of what had just happened better than anyone here. I remembered for some reason that today was Mayor Kaiden's birthday. The pit in my stomach drops further, but I wave the sympathy away quickly. It's messing with me, and I'm supposed to be desensitized. NFNM. 'No feelings, no mercy.' That was the motto for the Career Program here in D4. It might've been different in other Districts. Hmph.

"Carlos Santiago!"

Steffi's voice snapped me from my thoughts. I realize she called my name and curse under my breath. I was planning on volunteering… If anyone volunteers in my place, I can't do anything about it… I make a point in glaring at each of the age division on the boys' half, daring _any_ of them to volunteer in my place. The message is pretty clear. Most draw in a breath when they see my deathly warning visage. Others aren't even looking at me, so it's apparent that they don't plan on volunteering.

I walk up the steps beside Nadia and stare out at the crowd. "Any volunteers?" Steffi asks.

A seagull cruised above the crowd, squawking a little. I took it as a substitute for crickets, because below the seagull, not a work was to be spoken. It was the first time in a long while that District Four didn't have any volunteers.

"Well, there you have it!" Steffi chuckles. I can tell by the way her voice rises that she's noticed the same things I have and is about as surprised as Nadia looks. We both turn and shake each other's hand. I blink apologetically at her and she gives a curt, depressed nod.

_No feelings,_ I think as I grip the girl's sweaty palm. _No mercy…_

**(A/N: There you have it! Chapter 5 will be up tomorrow afternoon, and don't forget to review!)**


	5. It's Always Something: Nitrine and Moto

**(A/N: Thanks so much for reading, guys! We're a third of the way done, so bear with me! Here's D5!)**

~Nitrine's POV~

I breathe in deeply as my nasal passages clear. Showering is my favorite part of the day, because the rest of the day is horrible. Monday through Friday, it's always something. The jeering, the laughing, the pushing… And I can't do a thing about it.

I duck my head and let the lukewarm water run the soap out of my auburn hair, down my face and drip in front of my vision off of my eyelashes. I sigh and the tangy taste of shower water pervades my taste buds.

After a few more minutes, I turn the squeaky faucets and the water slowly stops. I lethargically step out of the tub, readjusting the shower fixture so that water wasn't wasted when it dripped out of it. I turn around and begin to wipe the fog from the old mirror, stepping up extremely close to it and examining my pale, sopping body and hating almost everything I saw. The square jaw, the curveless pudgy torso, the spindly limbs… I almost cried. Then I looked at my eyes… My hazel eyes were the only thing about me that I thought were beautiful. They were the perfect size, shape, and color. And blinking them meant that for a fraction of a second, I wouldn't have to see the rest of me.

The feeling didn't last, though… I turned my head and reached for the large thick-framed spectacles on the bathroom counter. I try and towel the fog off as best as I can, but as much as I try, they never clean all the way. I put them on, the familiar streaks blurring my vision in familiar places. I look at myself again in the mirror, and _now_ I hate everything that I see. My eyes were hidden behind the stupid and ugly glasses, and there was nothing else beautiful about me that I could see. Contact lenses were painful to put in and the pain never diminished, so those were a no. Without glasses, everything was so blurry that I couldn't even make out the shape of my hand unless it was right in front of my face… Glasses were the only way I could properly get around…

A tear rolls down my cheek. I sniffle once and hope it's just my sorrow and not my nasals closing again. Turning away from the mirror, I wrap the towel around my ugly form and lumber into the hallway, walking a short distance to my room.

Aware that today's Reapings were soon to begin, I hastily dress myself in undergarments, a long skirt that comes over my knees and a blouse that feels damp at the wrists. I sniff again as I put my socks on, and I'm sure it's my sinuses this time. Once I'm fully dressed, I walk downstairs. I can see my father sitting on the couch, remote in hand. A small spark jumps from the TV every time he presses a button, but it obeys him anyway and flips to a different channel or lowers or raises the volume. I don't bother telling him; he knows already that I'm going to the Reaping. He's not going, this I know for sure. His lack of lower limbs is his excuse. I glance once at him as I open the door and he glances at me as I close it behind me.

~Moto's POV~

I can't bear to hear the humming of the looming power cables anymore… I grit my teeth and try to plug my ears. It works for the first nine seconds, but then I feel the vibrations in the sides of my head and realize there's no use.

I groan as I listen to District 5's short, plump escort, Archibald Nessingwary, try and work the crowd as he waits for the 'okay' to introduce Mayor Koll. He's gone through 2 'funny' stories and several horrible puns and jokes so far, currently on his third story... His bright red hair, standing up against his head as if he had just been comically electrocuted, wobbles back and forth as he walked. It was supposed to be in honor of District Five's industry, power and electricity, but it was more of a mockery than anything else. People here get killed every day due to electrical incidents, and you have the gall to try and look like you're a 'victim'?

I hate him, without question, but I can't help but chuckle. Not because he was funny, which he wasn't, but because he was making a fool out of himself in front of the whole District. Perhaps the Peacekeepers were withholding that 'okay' because they loved that he was epically failing as much as I did.

Finally, in the middle of the 'climax' of his stupid tale, there's a thumbs-up from the head Peacekeeper and he sighs, resigning after he introduced Mayor Jo Koll. The tall, spectacled woman waved to the audience, who gave sub-standard applause. She began to recite the Treaty of Treason, which I tried and failed to tune out. This is the second time I'm hearing it live… Two years ago, when I was eleven, I would've just left the room until the recitation was over. No more of that…

Once the bore-fest has run its course, it's finally time for the actual Reaping. I watch Archibald closely as he shuffles to the girls' Reaping Ball and pull out a name.

"Nitrine Turnpike!"

I hear a few loud snickers from the crowd and I have to resist the urge not to smile. Laughing was contagious, whether you wanted to or not. And I didn't, not at Nitrine. I watch as she is jostled from her place among the 14-year-olds. One good push sends her tumbling out of the fray and onto the ground. I look away and grimace. No one liked Nitrine. There's was nothing wrong with her, mentally or personality-wise, but everyone thought she was ugly, including herself. Harsh, maybe, but it's the truth. There's not a single attractive feature about her. She's as quiet as a church mouse. She sniffs after every fifth word that _does_ come out of her mouth. She didn't even have respectable grades in school. Not to mention her unsymmetrical figure and her gigantic glasses, which she was currently trying to find on the ground…

I felt really bad, and considered picking Nitrine's glasses up for her, but it would've been way too much trouble to shove my way to the edge of the 13-year-olds to help out someone who I, frankly, didn't like much myself… I just turned away, the laughs of the girls' half pounding at my ears.

When she had finally found her specs, she glumly made her way to the stage, where Archibald's sympathetic face was waiting to greet her.

"Any volunteers?" he inquired, looking around hopefully. Of course there weren't any volunteers. I don't even know why they bother asking Districts other than 1, 2, and 4…

Nitrine sniffled once, shifting uncomfortable as Archibald stuck his hand into the other Reaping Ball for the boys.

"Moto Luther!"

My heart jumped… He just called my name… The 13-year-olds made way for me to leave the pack, I hold a vacant stare as I lumbered up to stand beside Nitrine… I looked out toward the rear of the crowd and saw my mother bury her face into my father's shirt. He had a solemn look on his face as her rubbed her back gently. I don't know if either of them looked up at me. My eyes were on my feet.

"Ladies and germs! Your tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games!"

There was minimal applause, a few boos aimed at Nitrine. We turned and shook hands, and I could see it in her face that she had every intention of dying. I have no idea what she saw in mine, but it was enough to coax a relaxed visage out of her. Perhaps she saw that I was just as afraid as she was…

**(A/N: Almost halfway done! Look for District 6 tomorrow!)**


	6. Bloody Typical: Heather and Charles

**(A/N: Here it is: District 6! Enjoy, Hungry Gamers!)**

~Charles' POV~

I sit silently, alongside the rest of the tribute candidates as the train zoomed mostly noiselessly through the large, industrial skeleton that was District 6. You could tell by looking around that most of the kids in the train had been fished off of the streets and stuffed into this train. Most of them were covered in dirt and dust. Some, like me, were lucky enough to have been picked up from home and escorted to the train. Same difference, though… We were all the same in the eyes of the Capitol: nameless, faceless numbers.

On a whim, I look around at those surrounding me. Most looked like me, solemn and stone-faced. A few yards away, there was a girl who was sitting reverse-position in the lap of a boy who I can only assume is her boyfriend. The two of them were sharing what might very well be their last session of feverishly making out. Slightly disturbed, I turn back to looking straight ahead out of the window behind the girl sitting in front of me. I see our dreary cityscape for a brief moment, then it all fades to black without warning.

We've entered a tunnel, and for the first time, I hear noise. The distinct squeaking of the train's brakes. I hold on to the shiny polished support bar in front of me and hold on tight in order to remain steady. When the train stops, I see that we've entered the station, which has been cleared to allow us clear passage to the Justice Building, where the Reapings would occur…

The trudge from the train to the building is uneventful. None of the herded tributes look at each other or the Peacekeepers. Our heads are either straight ahead, or ducked. Mine is straight ahead. I heave a sigh as we're corralled into our divisions of age and gender. Our escort, Xavier Benedict, shook his head at the sad display. As soon as everyone was divided, he opened his mouth to speak…

~Heather's POV~

"Welcome, one and all, to the D6 Reapings for the 38th Annual Hunger Games!"

I hear reverberations of his declaration in different spots and at different distances from either ear, telling me that Benedict's message is being broadcast all over District 6. Because of the huge bother in gathering everyone from all over the District, only the children are absolutely required to attend the Reaping. Some parents come with their child for moral support. Mine didn't. I didn't have parents. Like many of the candidates this year, I was picked out of the rough. I've been on the streets for so long, any memory of my parents that may have been there were either gone or locked up tight within a part of my mind that I couldn't unlock if I tried.

I focus on my past, thinking it would be less painful than listening to Mayor Eastwood prattle on about the rise of Panem and the fall of the Districts… By the time Benedict is reaching his hand into the girls' Reaping Ball, I'm nice and depressed.

"Heather Insert-Name…. H-Heather!"

Bloody typical… With a heavy sigh, I weave my way through the twelve-year-olds and make my way to the stage. I stand before Xavier, my face dirty and graven. You know that look you get when you're looking at a corpse of something? The twinge in your lips and the stinging urge to shift your eyes away? That's the look Xavier was giving me right now. I leered back at him, giving my best smile. Apparently, my teeth were filthy, because he edged away from me as if I had bared fangs.

"N-Now for the boys!" Xavier called. Again, I hear the echo quite nicely in different parts of my hearing. Xavier shoves his hand into the twin Reaping Ball and pulls out a card. "Charles Warren!"

I blink as I notice a boy in the other half of the candidates cringe quite visibly. He begins to slither his way through the 15s and soon joins me on stage. I glance at him and he looks at me with a stunned countenance that I see on many reaped tributes' faces when I watch the Games on one of the huge televisions throughout the District.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Please give a round of applause for Heather and Charles Warren! Your tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games!"

The way he said it made him sound like my brother. I grumbled under my breath and reluctantly extended a hand for him to shake. His grip was weak and trembling and I roll my eyes at him before turning back to the audience and waving. Hopefully, I won't have to see this place again…

I look back once at the large television screen on the building directly behind the divisions of relieved candidates, and I see my face. I look like a zombie. The walking dead…

**(A/N: District 7 coming to you tomorrow! Stay tuned!)**


	7. Caterwaul: Fauna and Thorne

**(A/N: Here's District 7 for you lot! Please review, if for nothing else but to tell me you're liking it! Please? It's not hard! Change of plans, guys! Two chapter per day from now on! The way this will go now, the final two districts will be posted on the seveth day of this story's existence. After a week, instead of the twelve chapters I planned on doing, I'll now be posting only seven; one for each day of prep before the actual Games! n_n Enjoy!)**

~Fauna's POV~

I throw myself into my mother's arms, screaming at the top of my lungs. Hoping that someone would pinch me and stir me from this nightmare. That perhaps I would scream myself awake. That maybe it was one of Lois's jokes and the _real _tribute hadn't been named yet. But I knew our escort. Lois wouldn't be that cruel, and the lack of humor in her voice told me that she was very serious, and the strong hands of the Peacekeepers ripping me away from my mother told me that this was very real.

I kick and scream and do everything I can to try and get away. To no avail, of course. The Peacekeepers were anything but wimps. They only gripped me tighter, their barks for me to shut up completely dwarfing my cries for help.

It takes the unhooking of a thick whipping strap from one of the Peacekeepers' belts to silence me. Though a public beating is much better in my mind than being shipped to the Capitol to be killed, I've seen what these Peacekeepers can do with those straps to people younger than I am. The idea of that kind of pain being put across my bare back or bottom is enough to force my body to take the reins and clam it.

I turn slowly toward Lois, my lip trembling and my face wet with tears. I'm about to move, but I hear my mother begin to choke up, and the motivation leaves me. I stand there hesitantly, blubbering like a child.

*crack!*

I jump and cry out as a sharp and burning pain bites into my left hip. One of the Peacekeepers struck me. When I look back and blink tears at him, I can tell by his appearance that his full strength was not behind that lash. I doubt he was even using _half_ of his strength. It was more a persuasion than a punishment. It doesn't work. My body refuses to move, refuses to let go of its quaint life here in the massive logging camp that was District 7. My terrified mind struggled against my stubborn body, and when I try and move, I only succeed in dropping to one knee.

*crack!* *crack!*

The thick leather unyieldingly rips into my skin under my thin clothes. I try and move, but the strikes are stronger and my muscles feel like they're turning to stone. Though the Peacekeeper is probably unaware, I am completely at his mercy. The pain causes my vision to blur, and I fear I might black out… He raises his arm again, but hesitates as a voice meets his ears.

"Stop! Stop it! She's a child, you monster!" my mother caterwauls with all of her soul. The man turns and starts toward my mother, strap still raised. Another Peacekeeper takes him by the shoulder and holds him in place. The two lock eyes and the interloper slowly shakes his head. As he hooks the strap to his belt again, I weakly stand and waddle painfully up the stairs to join Lois on stage.

There is pain in those big pink orbs. She rubs my back and gently asks, "How old are you, dear?"

"S-Seventeen." I manage to mutter, still cringing from the resonating stinging on my hip and back. More tears fall and I drop my head, completely ashamed of myself. I freeze up at the feeling of a disciplinary tool. How on Earth would I fare against spears, swords, and bludgeons?

"Fauna Violet, ladies and gentlemen." she said. There was something in her voice, in the way she said it, that caused sympathy to crash over everyone present. They began to applaud, and my head raises slightly, my quivering lips twitching into a brief smile of appreciation.

~Thorne's POV~

I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't turn my eyes away. I winced each time the heavy leather whipping strap met the poor girl's back. It was only four times, but it was enough to almost move her to faint. I watched as her mother screamed for the offending Peacekeeper to stop, the entire scene causing an emotional stone to fill my stomach to the point of bursting.

District 7's mayor sat with his head in his hands. As mayor, he should be able to put a stop to this, too ease the regimen of the unforgiving white-suited sentinels, but it was out of his hands. His position was superficial. The real power, of course, belonged to the Capitol.

I was one of the first to start clapping for Fauna, and upon seeing that she was feeling at least a little better, I smiled. It flipped again moments later however, as Lois Wyvern pulled a card from the boys' reaping ball.

"Thorne Fagan."

The stone gets twice as heavy… Unwilling to share Fauna's painful ordeal and minimize the ambiance she's managed to build, I lug myself up to the stage from the pool of 18-year olds and stand on Lois's other side. Sighing is painful for some reason, and my throat tightens.

I stare out at all the faces I was leaving behind: my sister, my mother, my aunts, and my grandmother. What cruel luck that the only boy in a family of women gets ripped out of the picture so suddenly, made worse by the fact that this was my last year before I was in the clear…

I look over at Fauna. Her face is still sopping, and she refuses to meet my gaze. I don't blame her…

**(A/N: There ya go! District 8 will be here tomorrow! Tell me what you think so far!)**


	8. No More Tears: Paisley and Franklin

**(A/N: Welcome back! Here's District 8, ladies and germs!)**

~Paisley's POV~

I catch his hands just as they're about to pop the top button of my blouse. The momentum we had built up moments ago suddenly begins to resist my body's attempt to slow down. His eyebrows rise and he forces himself to pull his lips away, squeezing my hands in what is either affection or frustration.

"Paisley…" he utters in my ear, and I can tell by the pain in his voice that it's both.

"Oh, Jack…" I whisper back with equal pain. He's clearly unsure of how to register this, so I try and explain.

"I want to. I really do, Jack." I start, and am then cut off as he presses his lips to mine again. I guess that notion of objects in motion holds some earing outside of physics as well… My eyebrows knit and I give his hands a squeeze, though mine is mostly frustration. He gets the message, gently pulling away.

"Why don't we, then?" he asks with a distinct-yet-subtle harshness.

"You know why." I say with hardness mixed in with my sorrow. No, not hardness. Coldness.

This answer seems to sate him. He lets me go and I collapse into the chair behind me, feeling nauseous. For several different reasons vaguely related to this one, actually.

Firstly, no more than ten minutes ago, I volunteered to save my fourteen-year-old sister Felicia from the Games. Secondly, my brother Franklin, who's only twelve, got reaped as well, and no one came to his defense… Thirdly, my boyfriend Jack is only the second person who has come to visit me before I'm taken to the Capitol. My sister was first, and we just hugged and cried until she was carried out by Peacekeepers. My parents were either angry at me for volunteering, sad that I was leaving to most likely be killed, or both. Same difference, though: they failed to show up for a simple goodbye. Their sorrow clearly dwarfed my need for moral support. So, yeah.

I turn my head so Jack couldn't see the disgust on my face. He runs a sympathetic hand through my ashen hair, and a sniffle causes my stomach to heave. He doesn't try and kiss me again because, like me, he doesn't know how I'll react.

Oh, yeah. Jack won the Hunger Games four years ago when he was fifteen. He's going to be my mentor. Of course, that's only part of the reason he and I couldn't… you know.

Jack gently turns my head to look at him. He looks at me expectantly, as if he knows I have something to ask him. I do, it turns out, but it takes me a few seconds to form the thought and work up the nerve to ask him.

"Jack… I'm going to die, right?"

More pain flashes through his eyes. "Paisley, I'm going to do everything I can to keep you and Franklin alive as long as possible."

His words might've comforted Felicia, but I know better. I understand what he's trying to tell me. Before I can drop my head and break down, he kisses me again and I accept it, tears rolling down my face and forcing my stinging eyes closed. Moments later, his lips are suddenly pulled away from mine and I open y eyes to watch a Peacekeeper drag him out by the arm.

I sniffle, suddenly alone again. I have to be strong… My tears won't get me any farther in the Games than the fact that I'm dating my mentor. There's no point. I wipe my eyes and turn around to the window wall behind me. I stare out at District 8, at the looming textile factory several hundred yards from the Justice Building in which I'm sulking now, at my home, where the lights are off and there seems to be no signs of life, even though I know my parents are wallowing in their own emotions and leaving me to wallow in mine…

No more tears. No more self-pity. I yank a string behind me and giant blinds descend, blocking the rest of the District from my view, leaving me sitting in darkness. I'm ready to die.

**(A/N: Sorry this couldn't come to you yesterday; my computer was having some problems. District 9 and 10 should be up today, at different parts of the day. Triple feature! I treat you lot so well, don't I? Return the favor by reviewing! n_n)**


	9. Change of Plans! Interval

**(A/N: Oi… Big change, guys… Some sort of bug or a glitch on my computer has wiped all of the pre-written Reapings from my hard drive. I **_**really**_** don't want to make you wait for me to retype the last four, and all of the tributes except two in the last four are bloodbaths, so, instead, I'll just leave it at this.. I suspect they were getting dry, anyway..**

** The only two tributes who weren't bloodbaths were Yale from 9 and Amber from 11. I'm tempted to only do intros for them, but… Meh… That wouldn't seem right to me. I feel Amber would be better expressed in the actual Games, anyway. And we don't see much of Yale, I don't think. So instead, I'm just going to skip it all and begin the week's interval between the Reapings and the week of preparation. If you guys give me enough honest, detailed reviews, I might just post a reward chapter on Friday! n_n It's up to you, though. If you want the reward, take the effort to write me a nice review with your thoughts on the characters! Easy, no?**

** Well, then, what're you waiting for? REVIEW! :D)**


	10. Winning Is So Sweet: Careers

**(A/N: I was pleasantly surprised by the number of views my story is getting! As a thank-you to all of my loyal viewers and nice reviewers, here's the reward chapter! Enjoy!)**

~Nadia's POV~

I look around the dinner table, relieved to see that no one else was eating, either. It was a delicious-looking meal, mainly of seafood and such, but I didn't dare eat a bite. My stomach has done so many flips today, I'm certain it will reject anything I try and force inside of it.

The only reason Carlos wasn't eating was because he was the first to finish. He downed a full lobster in seven minutes, and was now trying his hardest not to look at me. I know he felt bad for me and didn't want to make it worse, but I could _really_ use his support now… Especially if we're going to be in the Career Pack this year…

Steffi sat in between Carlos and Thell, enjoying a platter of what I suppose is seafood, but it was cut into too many tiny bits to be identifiable… She still looked like she was shocked at how today's Reapings went, and I didn't blame her… I was just as shocked as she was.

Thell hasn't touched his food yet. He leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, occasionally glancing the two of us over. Beside him was our other mentor, Mags. She was the only one still eating, and she appeared to be taking her time..

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of Panem's anthem. We all turned our heads to the television screen on the wall across from us and began to examine the recaps of the Reapings today.

"Pay attention to 1 and 2." Thell said, the first words I've ever heard him say in person. His voice was young, but had the bearing of a veteran, which he was, kind of.

I furled my eyebrows as the recap for D1 played. Apparently, there was a catfight for the female spot… The winner was a blonde-haired, green-eyed girl who ended up losing a shoe in the scuffle. The male tribute, another volunteer, was a crowd favorite. I'm guessing his name is Phoenix…

"What do you think, Mags?" Thell inquired. The middle-aged woman looked at the two District 1 tributes for no more than a few seconds before speaking.

"If they weren't from District 1, I'd have suggested you kill them early." she started with a nod. "By the looks of them, if they aren't stupid, they'll go far in the Games, especially that Centari fellow. They're sure to rake in sponsors."

Thell nodded in concurrence, and Carlos listened intently to her words.

As the recaps continue, Mags takes a particular interest in the female tribute from 3.

"W-Was there a mistake in the census..? There's no way that girl can be twelve." she said with a crease of her eyebrows.

"Judging by the position of the corrals, I'd say she's fourteen." Thell said.

"Easy prey." Carlos grumbled. I stared at him, and he stared back at me. "What? You don't think so?"

"I think we shouldn't underestimate our opponents. We don't know what that girl can do." I said, surprising myself. I'd be the last person I'd expect to think strategic thoughts. Thell looked impressed, but Mags only gave me an approving nod. Good enough for me.

"Thell, Mags, were there any girls like that in either of your Games?" Carlos inquired. Both of them nodded.

"12-year-old from District 7. Ran right to the Cornucopia. First one there, but she was surrounded and swarmed before she could find a good weapon. Poor kid."

Mags looked deep in thought. "Yup, there was a pretty young thing in the 9th Hunger Games. She was smart as a whip and handy with an awl, of all things. Rejected by the Career Pack and left to fend for herself. She was 14, too, I think…"

Mags took a look around, pleased to see that we were all listening. "Quite a fighter, this one was. The other tributes underestimated her cunning, and she ended up killing quite a few of her opponents quickly and silently, armed only with that awl. I can only imagine what it feels like to be alive and kicking one moment, then face-down with a hole in your neck the next. Not even knowing what hit you…"

Mags laughed lightly, and my brows furled. I opened my mouth, but Carlos beat me to it.

"Sounds like she made it pretty far. Did you manage to kill her?" he asked.

Mags's face split in a wide grin and she shook her head, taking another bite of her seafood. My face paled as it began to dawn on me. Carlos knitted his eyebrows, not getting it yet. "How'd she die, then?"

"I think Nadia knows the answer." Mags said, turning a calm, amused eye to my ghastly face. "Well, dear? Tell us how this young girl died."

I _did_ know the answer. It took me a moment, but I forced my mouth to move. "She didn't."

Mags chuckled again, standing and patting me on the shoulder before casually walking from the table and into the next car, leaving us sitting there, all but stunned.

~Olivia's POV~

Yes, I dated at thirteen. Don't judge me; some of you have done much worse at twelve. That's not the point, though. The point is, I'm stuck in the Games _and_ in an obligatory alliance with none other than Atlas Greene. Oh, joy.

I lay back on my bed, refusing to show up to dinner with him there. I looked out the window and watched my world zoom by at two hundred miles an hour. My only condolence in this was that if things go favorably, I'll eventually get to kill him.

The thought brings an evil smile to my face, then I remember that my hatred of Atlas was kind of my own fault, and now I've killed my joy. Nice, Olivia.

I knew the recaps were going to be played while we ate at dinner, but it wouldn't matter anyway. The Career Pack destroys them all without fail each year. Then they destroy each other. That's how the Game works. There are some special exceptions occasionally, like Mags that one year, Beetee a couple years back, that Jack guy from 8. Not often, though.

I turn my head back to the door when I hear a knock. "Go away!" I groaned.

"It's not Atlas…" sighed the voice behind the door. I sat up; it _wasn't_ Atlas. It was my mentor.

"Fine, fine. Come in, I guess."

The door swings open, and Pyra steps in, her dark arms folded and her red hair as full and bouncy as I remember. She sat on the bed next to me, looking over me with a scowl. "Is this how you're going to behave until you're gutted like a fish?"

"I won't be gutted; I'm going to win this." I growl, throwing the covers over my head.

"Not with that attitude, girl." she growled back at me with equal intensity. "If you expect to lead the Career Pack, you'd best shape up and accept who you're going to have to work with."

"But I hate-" I start, then cut myself off as I pondered on her words. I throw the covers off and raise my eyebrows at her. "What? Lead the Career Pack?"

"Did I stutter?" Pyra grunts. "We talked to Atlas at dinner, which you failed to show up to. He argued strongly about leading the Pack, but we worked him into a compromise. If you start talking to him again and treat him like a friend, he'll let you lead the Pack."

Ugh, was it really worth it..? I have a really hard time with people I don't like. Asking me to be Atlas's friend is like asking a squirrel to share her nuts. It's not going to happen.

"Fine, I'll try.." I grumble. Pyra ruffled my hair and set a plate of steak on the bed beside me.

"Good girl." she chuckles, standing and walking out. As soon as the door closed again, I sigh, starting to eat. The steak was delicious, of course, but the way I was feeling right now, it felt like cardboard in my mouth, so I quit after half of it and throw the rest in the trash, plate and all. Then I laid back on the bed again, sighing.

Treat _Atlas Greene_ like a friend… Yeah, right…

~Phoenix's POV~

Of all the things I expected to see when I opened my train compartment door in the middle of the night, Dolla's toweled body leaning against my door frame was somewhere in the middle. Lo and behold, however, there she was, staring at me with those sultry green eyes and a sly smile on her face.

"Hello, neighbor." she said with a wink.

Normally, I'd be overjoyed to have a hot girl standing only in a towel right outside my room, but Dolla… She wouldn't quit. She'd been trying to get my attention since we got on the train. Okay, sure, I dig her about as much as she digs me, but damn… A man needs his space, for goodness' sake.

She was getting desperate, you could tell. This was her most drastic attempt yet to get me to pay attention to her.

"Lose your clothes, Dolla?" I inquire, ticking an eyebrow. She makes a point in swishing her hair around as she shakes her head.

"I just came to see if I could use your shower? Mine isn't working."

She was lying. _Everything_ made by the Capitol works. It had better, or someone's losing a finger or worse. However, it's pointless to argue with a woman. Especially a woman like Dolla.

"Fine, fine, come in. Don't make a mess." I sigh, stepping aside and letting her enter. She smiled just like I'd expect a 16-year-old baby to smile, then strutted casually to the bathroom compartment in my room. There was a three-second delay before the door opened and her towel came flying out, landing on the floor by the bed.

I run a frustrated hand through my straight brown hair and close my eyes, hoping that she had _just_ wanted to use my shower. This wasn't the case, of course, as Dolla soon confirmed.

"Phoeeeeeeeniiiiiiix!" she whined from the bathroom, like a child who couldn't reach the cookie jar.

_No…_ I say in my mind before answering: "Yeah, what is it?"

"Your shower doesn't work, either!" she pouted.

_No, no, Lord, no…_ I think, my eyes squeezing closed. "What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"Come fix it!"

Please don't get me wrong. I _love_ women. If this were any other girl, I'd probably revel in their attention, and charge headfirst into that bathroom. I just don't get what's Dolla's problem. Why don't I like her like I like other girls?

Then it hits me. One of us is going to die within about a week from now. I can't get _too_ attached to her, or I'll feel obligated to risk my life for her, and obligation is the _last_ feeling I should have toward my fellow tribute. An alliance is one thing. Partnership? That's completely different.

"Phoenix! It's cold in here! Come fix your shower!" Dolla whines again.

"Why don't I just go and fix _your _shower?" I retort. This catches her off-guard, I can tell.

"B-Because I'm already here, duh!" she stammered. "Get in here _now_!"

"Nah." I sigh, a small smile creeping to my face. I walk over to the bed and grab Dolla's towel just as she's poking her head out of the bathroom to scream at me. He face goes from angry red to shocked pale when she sees me.

"Bastard! Give that to me!"

"Come and get it, baby." I chuckle, winking at her and starting to casually strut out of my room in the same manner she did. "Or are you chicken? Bawk, bawk, bawk! Baby chickens don't win the Hunger Games!"

Just as planned, this sends her over the top. She bursts out of the bathroom and charges after me, screaming profanity as I sprint down the hallway. She was faster than I thought, but I was still faster.

I throw open the door to the next car, pleasantly surprised to see that both of our mentors _and_ Julian Moss were still there, eating small snacks and talking. They look up at me and the towel in my hand, utterly confused. I smirk knowingly, then run to the table to sit beside Julian quickly. It was only a matter of seconds…

Dolla nearly breaks down the door to get into the dining car and is about to leap for my throat, until she sees that I wasn't alone. She freezes, and her face sticks into a horrified expression as she realizes that her plan, whatever the end result was supposed to be, has completely backfired.

Our male mentor, Thyst, stares for a moment before collecting himself and turning back to his food, while our female mentor Ruby scrutinizes her body, shaking her head in disappointment. Julian nearly keels over, and I just stare at her with my arms crossed, smirking. For the first time since we got on the train, I can enjoy looking at her.

Her face turns bright red, and her naked body begins to tremble and quake. I know what's coming, so I plug my ears with her towel while she lets out a bone-shivering wail.

"WAAAAH!"

Now I know how the Victors feel. Winning is so sweet.

**(A/N: There you guys go! That's your reward chapter! This was a pain to type out, so you guys better have enjoyed it! Tell me what you think, and I'll try and post the first day in the week before the Games tomorrow or Monday! Bye for now!**


	11. Through And Through: Day 1

**(A/N: Welcome back! Here's day one for our tributes in the Capitol! Enjoy, and remember to review! And just so it's not confusing, Heather is supposed to have a British accent. n_n Once again, enjoy!)**

~Heather's POV~

Capitol people are so fickle… When we got off the train, we were treated as if we were some sort of rare, exotic creatures, which we were, in a sense. People always adored the District 6 tributes for no other reason other than the occasion wispy accentuated voice, which I just so happened to have…

That all changed, however, when Charles and I were separated and taken to the tossers who were assigned to be our stylists. The way they looked at me when they first saw me… It made me want to vomit that I made them want to vomit. As if they and their stupid candy-colored hairdos and outrageously giant outfits made of the fur and flesh of animals were any less disgusting.

I roll my eyes as I'm whisked away in a cloud of annoying voices and pokes and prods. One of my stylists, who I soon learned was named Benson, spoke soothing, sympathetic words to me and carefully stroked my hair, as if my ugliness was a painful disease. A female stylist whose name I never bothered to remember tried to stay as far away from me as possible, as if my ugliness was contagious. The one I liked most was the one who silently scrutinized me, judging what he and his team had to work with this year. I could tell he didn't like what he saw in the least bit, but I respected the way he kept silent about his disgust. The snap of his fingers brought the others to absolute silence, and I determined that he must be my head stylist.

"Alright, people, let's get her out of these rags and see the full extent of the damage! I can already tell, cleaning her up is going to be a crucible in itself, let alone making her presentable."

The tall, tanned man pinched my cheeks, and this made me smile for some reason. The smile melted quickly, though, as the rest of the stylists grabbed me by the arms and began to force me out of my clothes.

~Rindro's POV~

I have no idea what the heck my stylists put in this bathwater, but it was like bathing in lava. Not long after I was roughly scrubbed clean of any grease or grime that clung loosely to my person, I was placed in this tub of yellowish liquid and left to set as all the hair on my body, save for my head, was singed right off of me, followed slowly and agonizingly by at least two layers of skin. By the time my head stylist, Chrissy, came back to check on my progress, I was shedding skin like a snake…

After another round of painful screams as the cold air struck my tender body, I descended into a lower circle of hell as my stylists, quite inconsiderate of my torture, scraped and scrubbed the clinging, nerve-lit skin off of my now smooth, foreign-feeling body.

I wanted to curl up in a corner and just die, but of course, my stylists were having none of it. They kindly provided me a robe before stuffing me into a white-walled room with only two chairs. Chrissy was sitting in one, and she looked ecstatic to see me, leaping up and running to hug me as if she had known me all her life. I accepted her hug without returning it, but she didn't seem to mind. She was more interested in babbling to me about the chariot ride and what Tixxie and I would be wearing as costumes…

~Thorne's POV~

You might think that because my District's main industry was supplying the Capitol's lumber, we might get cool costumes that reflect on our affinity to the strength it takes to haul wood or beautiful costumes symbolic of our closeness to nature. You'd be wrong. Each year since the District 7 Head Stylist got replaced after the 10th Annual Games, we've been dressed up tastelessly as some form of tree, bush, or wooden object, and it was apparent that this year would be no different as they began to weave me into my costume.

My stylists found my name amusing, so I was adorned not only in foliage, but plastic curved thorns stuck out crudely from the green base outfit I was wearing. I could only imagine what they were stuffing Fauna into…

Every one of those crazy, bobble-headed ninnies assured me I looked fantastic, but I didn't believe a word of it. I had seen myself in my costume, and I looked atrocious… But what was I expecting from the Capitol? Respect? Consideration? Sanity?

Minutes later, I'm entering the stables where they keep the chariots and horses. Already, the crowd is roaring for our bodies outside. I just sigh, walking over to my chariot and looking over myself in its mirrored surface.

My hair was dyed green and spotted darker green in some areas to make it look like I was really a plant. Besides the thorns, other pathetic excuses for foliage were woven into the plain green shirt and pants I wore as a base.

I sigh, fully prepared to accept my total embarrassment in front of all of Panem, until I hear a voice behind me.

"T-Thorne..?" a speculator voice inquired. It was Fauna's. I swallowed and turned, fully prepared to console her on the costume which I absolutely _knew_ was going to be awful. So you can probably imagine how taken aback I was when I laid eyes on what had to be the best D7 costume in the history of the Games (which, aforementioned, is not a high standard in the first place).

Fauna's whole body was painted brown and detailed to make her look like wood. She had soft green contacts in over her hazel eyes, and her long curly brown hair was all but untouched, except for a white lily hanging over her ear. She's naked from the waist up, but a flowing brown skirt that matches her body paint hangs from her midriff and is so long that I can't see her feet.

I think that they've turned her into some sort of dryad, or a forest fairy, until I step back and take in her entire image. She's a tree trunk.

Fauna's arms twitch at her sides, and I can tell she's trying hard not to cover her breasts and mess up her make-up. She seems to be scrutinizing me, wondering what I am. I scratch the back of my neck, smirking.

"Y-You look great, for a tree, Fauna." I manage, turning back to the chariot. She looked ridiculous, but at the same time, was ridiculously stunning. I can only assume she smiled as she patted me carefully on the shoulder so as not to poke herself on my cheap, plastic thorns.

"And you don't look so bad for a thorn bush." she chuckled, climbing into the chariot. I followed, standing awkwardly beside her and trying not to let my eyes wander…

~Tixxie's POV~

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I present to you: your Tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games!"

I swallowed whatever pride had nested in my tiny chest as the chariots began rolling out. District 1's tributes, Dolla and Phoenix, were both clad in stunning white outfits covered in rubies and amethysts in honor of their two mentors this year. One horse pulling them was spray-painted red, while the other was painted violet. I couldn't help but think that spray-painting horses was dangerous somehow, but I couldn't place why.

District 2's chariot was large and bulky, so large, in fact, that it required an extra two horses to pull it at an acceptable speed. There was a large relief of the Earth on the front of the miniature tank, which I didn't quite understand until I remembered that the D2 male's name was Atlas. Atlas and his fellow tribute, Olivia, were both dressed in blue and green togas, and both of them wore bowl-shaped caps, painted to look like the world.

It was our turn next. Rindro and I wore a matching set as well, white shirts and black jeans. We also wore shiny black jackets with spaulders on them that looked like gears and spun like them, too. Topping it off, we had black goggles on our faces. In one eye, a floodlight shone out, while in the other, there was a glowing red crosshair. By some genius optical illusion or something, only those who didn't look directly through the glasses saw the light and crosshair. Rindro and I could see completely normally, save for a bit of tinting. He actually looked a little badass with his arms crossed as our chariot rode through the street. I looked like a toy robot no matter what I did.

I caught some adorable squeals from the audience as they saw me, and when I turned my head and illuminated part of the audience with my floodlight, they all just went crazy. Silly Caps…

As our chariot moved to join D1 and D2's I spotted the other chariots as they rolled into formation as well. District 4's tributes, Carlos and Nadia, were wielding conch shells and wearing swimsuits. Nothing surprising there. What caught my attention, and the attention of the audience in general, was District 5. They looked shocking, pun intended. Skintight green and black suits with giant gauntlets on their hands that let out sparks with every motion. My eyes locked on the female tribute, Nitrine, and I furled my eyebrows. When I saw the recaps, I could've sworn, she was a sad, pathetic bag of skin and suicidal depression. But I saw none of this as she pumped her fists and waved to the crowd. Even her fellow tribute looked disturbed by the change. What had they done to her when they were styling her..?

My attention turned back to the other tributes. The D6 tributes, Heather and Charles, were dressed as train conductors and looked to be hating every moment of it. My eyebrows rose when I saw the D7 tributes, Thorne and Fauna. For a moment, it looked like Thorne was standing beside a tree trunk that his partner was hiding in, but when they got closer, my eyebrows rose higher when the tree trunk blinked. Fauna _was_ the tree trunk, and she looked like a pretty darn good one.

Then rolled in D8, the Siblings, Paisley and Franklin. I felt absolutely horrible for the both of them, then forced myself to swallow my emotions again. I may end up killing one of them, and I can't afford to feel pity. They were wrapped, save for their faces, from head to toe in different bright fabrics, so that they looked like Capitol mummies.

D9's tributes, Soca and Yale, came rolling by in a wheat-colored chariot, wearing straw hats and overalls. They, along with District 10's tributes, Wesley and Jaelyn, who were dressed in ridiculous cow suits, didn't make an impression on me. Then District 11's chariot came through. The chariots or costumes themselves didn't make an impression on me as much as the tributes did. Gin, the male, was pretty spindly for being 16. He was shaking visibly, and I wondered if it was out of fear or some debilitating illness. Amber, on the other hand, looked at the peak of health. She was 18 years old and stood at a lithe 5' 10". She was very toned, and had the body of a fighter, not an apple-sorter. I wondered what kind of work she did on her orchards to give her such a healthy appearance…

District 12's tributes, Lapis and Arthur, were dressed like coal miners, of course. They were slathered in coal dust, too, making them look even filthier than they did when they were reaped. Lapis was 18, and Arthur was 17.

Once every chariot is in formation, the audience erupts in another fit of applause as a stately middle-aged man with a white rose in the breast pocket of his spotless white suit makes his way to his platform, high above everyone else. Literally, the only things taller than him right now were the buildings around him. They call him 'President', but I know better. This is no democracy. It's a tyranny. Coriolanus Snow is a dictator, through and through.

~Amber's POV~

"Welcome!" President Snow asserts, bringing the entire audience to an impressive silence within a matter of seconds. "Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the 38th Annual Hunger Games!"

This brings the audience back into another wave of screaming and applause. Some of the Careers are cheering, as well. Idiots.

"Here today, standing before you, are 24 of the bravest young people I have ever seen in my life, chosen to come here and lay their lives on the line for the sake of their homes. Is there a sight more beautiful, ladies and gentlemen?"

Another sickening round of applause breaks forth in response to his lies. I look over at Gin. Does he look brave to this man? Does he look like someone who would lay his own life for _anything_? He has pneumonia, for crying out loud. Without the proper care, he's fighting just to _hold on_ to his life, let alone sacrifice it.

Gin looks at me, his shaky body uncomfortable and his thin eyebrows knitted, and it dawns on me that my rage was starting to show. I sigh, calming myself down. The blood had rushed to my ears and thankfully drowned out most of the rest he had to say, except for the obligatory sign-out.

"Happy Hunger Games!" his voice boomed, the audience now going straight bananas at this point. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

~Atlas's POV~

"What about mutts?"

"What _about_ mutts?"

"You know what, Pyra. How do we beat them?"

"Olive, you know as well as I do that the mutts are different each year. My year, they were giant centipedes."

"Ugh, don't call me Olive! Any _general_ tips you can give me on fighting mutts, then?"

My eyes darted from Pyra to Olivia as they went back and forth at the dinner table, discussing strategy instead of eating. I had long since finished and was ow waiting to get a word in edgewise. I had some questions for Pyra, too. I would've asked Setto, but he had gone to his room and demanded peace until tomorrow.

"Yeah, a few." Pyra sneered, picking her teeth with a toothpick and flicking it to the floor, which an Avox eagerly went to collect. "Don't turn your back to them unless you're certain they have _their_ back to you."

"What if we're facing more than one?" I managed to ask.

"How many are you implying?" she yawned.

"Two?"

"Keep _both_ in your sights. Don't be stupid enough to let them get on either side of you, or you're screwed."

"Three?" Olivia chimed.

"More than two, they're most likely smaller. Get to high ground, if possible. If they can climb, you're screwed."

"Four?" I added again.

"Any more than three? You're screwed; get the hell out of there. Drop everything you've got and run. Don't scream, don't panic. Just run like hell. Giant centipedes prefer louder, more interesting prey."

Pyra leaned back in her seat, balancing on two legs of her chair and setting her feet rudely on the table. She let out a loud belch and turned to Sebastian, who looked mortified. "The eats were divine, Wally. Keep it coming, and I might not wreck this sweet pad on my way out."

Sebastian nodded curtly, then stood, making his way to the bathroom, most likely to vomit. Pyra just laughed.

"Anything else?" I asked. Pyra looked at me as if I was a circus clown, then smirked, taking her feet from the table and standing.

"Yeah. Don't die." she chuckled, lumbering over to her room beside Setto's. "Have fun, kids."

When the door closed, my eyes turned to Olivia, and hers turned to me. This was going to be a long night; I could tell…

**(A/N: There you have it! The next chapter should be up by Thursday or Friday! Review and tell me what you think!)**


	12. The Dumbest Luck: Day 2

**(A/N: Training Day! n_n Alright, guys, I'm officially issuing a challenge. Whoever can give me the best review concerning their views on the overall characters and their favorite in particular, his or her preferred character will receive an edge in the Games! :D**

**Please, review, guys… I feed off of you. If you like this story and don't want it to fade into obscurity, LET ME KNOW YOU LIKE IT! Fuel my drive to keep typing! Seriously! Give me SOMETHING!**

**A big thanks to those few of you that are reviewing. You guys mean so much to me, honestly. n_n**

**Enough ranting! Onto Training Day!) **

~Moto's POV~

I… It's unexplainable… As soon as we got on the train, Nitrine resigned to her room, and didn't come out until it was time to leave to enter the Capitol. Between those two times, the only things I heard out of her compartment were nasally snores, anguished sniffling and sobbing, or a combination of the two.

We shared no words at all. Her prep team nearly fainted when they saw her; one even shed a piteous tear. Her head stylist, Grexx, shared a few words with Markus, one of our only two victors from District 5. I don't know what they talked about, but he nodded his grim, reluctant approval, and they escorted her off.

When I saw her next, I didn't even think she was Nitrine. She walked with such swagger, such confidence… And she actually looked pretty. But the most surprising thing of all had to be what I see in her eyes, behind her new, orange-rimmed specs: ruthlessness.

The same ruthlessness I see now in her eyes as we enter the elevator. As she crosses her arms and leans against the glass wall in the rear of the square chamber. I want to ask her what they did her in prepping, but I'm afraid she might punch me in the face. She's already tried to pick a fight with Soca, the 14-year-old girl from 9, after the chariot rides. Luckily, our respective mentors intervened before they could come to blows.

Nitrine and I ride in the elevator with both tributes from 3, Tixxie and Rindro, I think. My eyebrows furrow every time I look at Tixxie. She doesn't look twelve. I mean, sure, there were some young-looking tributes in past games. Mags from Four, for example. But between Tixxie's height, flatchestedness, and smallness of her face, she must be the youngest-looking tribute to ever hit the arena. I dismiss her as a threat; there's no way anyone this small would dare try and hold her own in combat. She'd be overtaken without effort by the older, muscular tributes like Thorne from Seven, Phoenix from One. Hell, I could probably take her if I was determined.

Tixxie looks behind her at me and sees the look I don't even know I'm giving her. She glowers at me and opens her mouth. I half-expect her to actually sound like a child as well, but her voice is surprisingly strong and harsh.

"Problem, Five? Or are you waiting for me to get prettier?" she hisses, caustic sarcasm biting into my nerve.

I almost apologize, but my second surprise of the morning interrupts me. Nitrine actually talks.

"That's a lot of credit you're giving yourself, considering anyone in this year's Games could punt you halfway across Panem."

Her strong, cold, and assertive voice forces backbone to culture in my spine. I decide to see how far I can push this kid. "Come on, Nitrine, lay off her. She's just _cranky_, obviously."

The word has the desired effect. Tixxie actually turns to face me, irritation clearly boiling in those dinner plate eyes. I wait for her retaliation.

"Cranky? You think I'm a baby?" There's a clear sense of warning in her voice and the way she pulls her band out of her dirty blonde locks that's telling me not to rattle her cage anymore. They must've numbed that sense in Nitrine, though.

"If the bootie fits." She then leaned over, looking straight into Tixxie's eyes and raising her thumb to her lips.

The reaction is instantaneous. No sooner than my District partner begins to mockingly suck her thumb, Tixxie's hand cracks like a whip against the side of her head, sending her glasses spiraling to the floor. Rindro pulls Tixxie back by the hands, pulling her away from Nitrine. As my District partner starts advancing, I quickly placed myself between her and Tixxie.

Upon seeing Nitrine's shocked and enraged expression upon being taken by surprise, the cultured backbone disintegrates. I turn to Tixxie and Rindro to apologize, and again, the move is so quick, it's almost invisible. Her child-like foot springs up and forward like a bolt of lightning, making square contact with that soft tendon between my knee and tibia. I'm down on one knee before I know what's going on.

"Tixxie, stop!" Rindro called, taking the little monster by the waist and lifting her into the air before she can land what was to be the knockout blow to my temple. He sets her firmly in one corner of the elevator whispering something to her under his breath, and I think she's going to snap on him, too, until she lets out a sigh and turns her back to the lot of us, staring out at the shiny, chrome city below us.

Rindro turned to us, a weary look in his eyes. "I'm sorry if she hurt you. Please don't rile her up again."

I get to my feet, my knee resonating with an annoying pain. I suppose dismissing her as a threat wasn't my best move. Not only is she fast, she knows where to hit to have the most effect. I turn back to Nitrine, who's frustratedly feeling across the floor for her glasses. I lean and pick them up for her, and when she can see again, she immediately turns toward Tixxie once more.

"You're dead in the arena, you little gnome!" she growls. Tixxie unnerves me and Rindro by chuckling lightly.

"Why wait? Come at me now, I dare you."

"Tixxie, I'm warning you…" Rindro hissed. Before he could finish his threat, the elevator doors opened out into a massive gymnasium. Tixxie pushed past us to get out first. I was the last to leave.

Tixxie and Rindro took their respective places on the 'F3' and 'M3' on the floor, and Nitrine and I stand at 'F5' and 'M5'. I look around, and am a bit embarrassed to realize that we four were the last to arrive, even though it's not even 10:00 yet.

The auburn-haired woman standing in the center of all of us cleared her throat, bringing us all to attention.

"Alright, tributes, listen up and listen hard, because I _don't_ repeat myself." she starts.

"Sorry, what was that?" Nitrine asks, pretending to dig her finger into her ear. I hold back a gasp. The Nitrine I thought I knew in District 5 would never defy authority, let alone defy it openly. What on earth have they _done _to her..?

The Careers laugh, and the head trainer only scowls, continuing as if Nitrine had not spoken. "My name is Kelythia, and I've been assigned this year to get you sorry lot into the best shape possible before the Games. If you'll look around, you see several stations available for training that include both combat and survival. I know you all want to rush straight into combat training, but don't overlook survival training. It's just as important for you to know how to keep yourself alive as it is to know how to kill others."

Some tributes nodded in concurrence. Some Careers rolled their eyes.

"Also, if it wasn't told to you before, I'm telling you now: At _any_ point before the Games begin, there will be absolutely _no_ fighting between tributes. If I, or anyone of authority, catch you, the odds will be considerably _less_ in your favor. Have I made myself clear?"

The tributes groaned and mumbled in assent, and Kelythia smirked. "Good. Happy Hunger Games."

And with that, the panel Kelythia was standing on sunk into the floor, and a new circle of metal floor slid into place over it.

~Nadia's POV~

Carlos and I immediately began to mingle with the other Careers. He meandered over to where Atlas and Olivia were having what I think was an argument, and I made my way to Phoenix and Dolla. The brown-haired boy was flinging ninja stars with amazing accuracy at a board against the far wall with targets of different size and position. Every time one hit its mark, there was a -ding!- and the struck target glowed. Until I got there, every time he threw, he hit a mark.

"Hi, there." I introduce myself, before he could throw his next. Phoenix froze mid-windup, looking me over.

"You're Kaiden, right? A mayor's kid?" he inquires. Dolla turned from her close-combat dummy, eyeing me talking to Phoenix.

"Yeah, that's right." I say with a nod. "You must be Phoenix. I've heard a lot about you."

"All positive, of course." he jokes with a smile, throwing the star and hitting the target.

*ding!*

"Of course." I smile a little, and Dolla frowns. She turns away from her combat dummy and starts to walk over. "Trouble coming?"

He turns over to Dolla, knowing what I mean. "Yup." he said under his breath before she comes into earshot.

"Who's this, Phoenix?" she asks accusingly, eyeing me. "That brat from Four?"

I furled my brows. "Brat? I'm older than you."

Dolla scoffs, as if _I_ was the one who was in the wrong. "You're Four's mayor's daughter, I assume. Were you even part of Four's Career Program? You don't look it."

I became to feel self-defensive. Now Phoenix was scrutinizing me, judging me…

"I'm stronger than I look." I defend.

"Show us." she says immediately.

I resist the urge to bite my bottom lip. I'm frozen in place, so it's the dumbest luck when Carlos's accented voice comes to my defense.

"She doesn't have to prove anything to you, Blondie."

I look over and see Carlos and bot tributes from Two coming over to the four of us. Dolla crosses her arms. "And why not? Because she doesn't have anything to prove?"

"She's got more to prove than you know. Nadia's not the best fighter, but she's got more strategy in one lobe than you do in your entire brain."

Dolla scoffs again, and it's Phoenix's turn to speak up. "Oh? Who should the Career Pack target first, then?"

"Everyone." I say immediately, as if the answer is obvious, which it kind of is. "During the bloodbath, we should group up and kill as many as possible as fast as possible. If you meant to ask, who should we target after the bloodbath…"

I look around at each of the training stations, scanning for her presence. I don't even think she's here until I finally spot her at the far end of the gym, climbing and jumping around in the chrome jungle gym in the survival section. I point at her, and everyone's eyes turn. Dolla's eyebrows scrunch, and even Olivia looks a little surprised. Atlas looks doubtful, and Phoenix's eyebrows are raised in curiosity. Carlos just stares blankly at her.

"Her. Tixxie Finnegan." I say surely.

~Tixxie's POV~

A sneeze makes me lose my balance and I tumble from the shiny metal bar I'm perched on, falling to earth and landing firmly on my back, knocking every molecule of air out of my lungs. I try to roll onto my side, but it's like trying to twist in a chokehold. I'm stiff and gasping for a breath. When I can breathe faintly again, I look up and see Rindro's hand reaching down to help me up.

I grimace as I accept his hand and am slowly helped to my feet. "Thanks." I pant.

"No problem. You cooled down yet?" he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him away.

"Of course I cooled down. I don't hold-"

I stop myself before I can lie. I _do_ hold grudges. I'm holding one right now as I condition my body with the intention of targeting Nitrine in a few days. Of doing more than knocking Moto's lights out with well-placed kicks. I sigh, and he reads my thoughts somehow.

"Tix, I don't blame you at all for the way you acted. Under different circumstances, I might've encouraged it. But-"

"I know, I know." Kelythia just explained it to us; I didn't need to hear it again. "What are you doing anyway? Here, that is."

"Watching you." he said with no hesitation or reservation, so I immediately rule out the already-ridiculous notion that he may have feelings for me. The notion that he's plotting the best method to kill me, however, still stands.

"Take a picture; it lasts longer." I spit with a roll of my eyes, leaping up and wrapping my hands around a protruding section of the giant metal structure, easily climbing my way to the top and watching everyone else.

Amber from 11 was sprinting tirelessly on a treadmill a few stations away. Paisley and Franklin from 8 were tying knots. Nitrine was talking with the group of Careers from 1, 2, and 4. I think Heather from 6 is trying to start a fire, but I'm not… Wait, what?

My gaze focuses back on Nitrine as she looks to be in a heated argument with Dolla from 1. Of course, from so far away, I can't make out a single word anyone is saying. They both look equally matched until Dolla hesitates, then recedes with a pouted sneer. Atlas from 2 laughs, and Carlos and Nadia from 4 just stared blankly at her. I see Olivia from 2 step up in Dolla's place and issues what I can only imagine is a challenge.

Nitrine nods, walking over the weapon rack and pick out an odd weapon which I didn't expect would be among the selection, a thick coil of chain. She unrolls a long section of chain and begins to swing it around experimentally. It looks comfortable in her hands. She turns to a dummy, spinning the section of chain faster before throwing it at the dummy in what I think is a weird way until I see the end of the chain wrap around the dummy's neck. One strong tug, and the dummy's simulated neck snaps. The little light in its eyes go out, indicating that the 'target' would be dead if it were a real person.

Nadia flinches and Dolla stares coldly, but the rest of them look rather impressed. Carlos has a few words to say, then directs Nitrine to Nadia. They share another few words, then something unexpected happens. Nadia points right at me. Nitrine follows her finger and smiles evilly. I try not to look too hasty as I make my way down to the ground level, where Rindro is still watching me.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"I think I'm in trouble." I say with a fret, explaining what I had witnessed to him.

"Sounds like you need your back watched. What do you say?"

"Allies." I say immediately, nodding at him.

~Dolla's POV~

Bitch… I glower at the Five girl across the table, taking an indignant bite of my chopped carrots. She had the nerve to insult my intelligence, and to make matters worse, I had no retort, proving her point for her. She was such a washout when she was reaped. For some reason, it angered me that she was able to grow a spine between her reaping and now. Ugh…

After training concluded, the seven of us pulled two tables together in the cafeteria and started talking. Most of us turned to Nadia to strategies, a better move than I would've preferred. It irks me that brains never occurred to me as an asset in the arena, and that only makes me angry at Nadia for having more than me. How a stick from District 4 who wasn't even a part of the Career Program could surpass me in anything was beyond me.

I tune back in to the conversation, reluctantly listening to Nadia's drivel.

"When the bloodbath begins, there are bound to be some people who turn and haul ass out of there with whoever they might be allied with. Those would be the smart ones. Smart ones are dangerous because, given the opportunity, they could _out_smart us. Whoever's the best without a weapon should go out and intercept at least one. Give the audience a little show and demonstrate that we don't screw around."

"Dolla." Phoenix says automatically. I gush, because it's true. I hate fighting with weapons. I won't admit it aloud, but it's mostly because I'm no good with them. I once thought a bow was an instrument and tried to pluck the bowstring to make music. I played it off as if I was testing its tautness, but I was embarrassed all the same.

"Yeah, alright." Nadia says, almost dismissively. I scoff again, crossing my arms and scowling at her. She's such a snob, I can't stand it! "And of course, after the bloodbath is over, we start tracking Finnegan from 3."

"What's so special about that dust mite?" Atlas asks as he picks his teeth with a pick. "She was in survival stations all day today; she's harmless."

"That could be what she wants you to think." Nadia starts. I cut her off before she can act all smart again.

"So, if you don't know for sure, why are you wasting our time targeting her, huh?"

Nadia looks confused. Aha! Finally, I've caught her!

"Dolla, would you rather not bother with her and allow her the opportunity to sneak up and stab you in the neck, or do you want to kill her first and prevent that?"

"I'd _rather_ we target someone who looks like an _actual_ threat!" I growl back, looking around the lunchroom. "Thorne, for example. Look at him; he's huge. He could take any one of us, even Phoenix, and they're the same age."

"Uh huh. And the rest of us?" Nadia sighs with a raise of her brows.

"What's that supposed to mean, Kaiden?" I grumble with a squint.

"Unless you're stupid enough to break from the group…" Nadia pauses for a moment and just looks at me. "Thorne will be fighting 1 against 7. One against 6 if he manages a good sneak attack. Do the odds seem like they're in his favor, Dolla?"

Okay, now she's asking me questions as if I'm a child and she's my teacher. And, I finally understand why she paused. She was _indicating_ me. She thinks I'd _actually_ be that idiot that wanders away from the group. In a rage, I almost leap over the table and lock my hands around her scrawny neck, but Phoenix grabs me by the waist and pulls me back into my seat.

"What about Tixxie, huh?" I yell, a little louder than I should have. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tixxie and Rindro turning in my direction. I lower my voice. "Why is she a bigger threat than Thorne?"

"Because she's easier to underestimate. You assume by looking at him that Thorne is some kind of ruthless monster capable of taking on any of us, but you don't know that."

"And you do?" I throw back.

"I didn't say that." she retorts. I could tell she was getting annoyed. "But clearly, I'm the better judge of potential. Did you see him at his Reaping? His body language? His facial expressions? The fact that he spent today in survival stations? Of course you didn't. Because you're a typical D1. It's what's on the _outside_ that counts for you."

"Alright, alright! That's enough!" Phoenix intervenes. "Nadia, you've proven your point; we'll track Tixxie first in the Games and Thorne second. Is that alright with you?"

"Perfect." the little D4 bitch says as she dumps her tray in the trash and walks toward the exit to the elevators. I sigh and slam my forehead onto the table. I can't believe I got outsmarted _twice_ in the same day…

**(A/N: There you have it! Day 2 is complete! Bonus cookie to whoever can successfully guess what's up with Nitrine! n_n It might by another two days before Day 3 is put up. Remember my challenge! It'll stand until the Games begin, so get the reviewing! Please?)**


	13. Hiatus

**(A/N: Hey, there readers! I'm really really sorry about this, but I'm going to have to put SoR38 in hiatus for a little while, until I can get my computer fixed. I'm not sure how long that will be, but money troubles are saying it'll be a while... :/**

**Sorry again, readers. I'll see you again when I can!)**


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